I attended Camp Howdy in the summer of 1988, when I was 12 years old (it just occurs to me this was pretty much exactly 20 years ago). The camp is located on Indian Arm, and it’s really quite scenic. There was a dock to swim off of, and all the usual activities – archery, canoeing, hiking, campfires, talking about boys. This was the view from outside of our group’s cabin:
We didn’t just stay at the camp all week, oh no. Our motley group of pre-teen girls hiked from Camp Howdy to a secluded spot on the shore of Buntzen Lake to spend two nights ‘roughing it’. It started with a hike that I remember as rather long and arduous, much longer and more arduous than our counsellor told us. Probably longer than she expected, too, because the last 30-40 minutes or so we were hiking in the dark, using our flashlights to light the way.
By the time we arrived at our desitination, we were all pretty tired and hungry. The spot wasn’t a formal campsite, so it was fairly rustic. Highlights of the first night included me stepping into the pit toilet (in my only pair of running shoes) and our decision not to set up our shelter because we were too tired. Of course we woke up to rain the next morning. Here are some of my fellow campers after we finally got our camp set up:
After that gong show, it was back to camp for the remaining few days. Our next adventure involved canoeing out to a nearby island to join another group of campers for lunch. I knocked over their pot of hot dogs, and their counsellor was more than a little miffed as he had to wash off each individual weiner in the ocean. Otherwise, our time at the island was uneventful, it was a fun few hours.
When the time came to canoe back the tide was coming in, or going out, or something. That’s not important. What is important was that the current associated with the tidal shift was too strong for our 12-year-old muscles, and we couldn’t make it back under our own steam. The other important detail is that the canoe I was in had a small leak, and so I didn’t have my shoes or other belongings with me, because there was an inch of water in the bottom of our boat (canoes are made of fiberglass and float anyway, so this was actually not as bad as it may sound).
After an hour or more of paddling, and staying in the same spot, they called out the camp motorboat to tow us in. They just tied a rope to one end of the canoe and the first group of girls rode in the canoe, at high speed, back to the dock. So far, so good. The next group of girls capsized in their canoe as they were being towed. One hit her foot on the rudder, but she wasn’t seriously injured, just hurt and scared. And all of the things that were in their canoe, including my cursed pair of running shoes, ended up at the bottom of the ocean. I made it through the last couple of days of camp with only flip-flops and rain boots. The rest of us rode in the motorboat while they towed our empty canoes behind.
So, you see, my week of summer camp was certainly memorable. I didn’t return, though, once was enough after that. Girl Guide camp, as it turned out, was more my speed. Girl Guides, after all, are nothing if not prepared. 
I love comments! If yours doesn't appear immediately, it was caught by my spam filter. Since spammers love me as much as I love comments, I can't always search through all the spam. So get in touch, and I'll rescue your comment.